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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194936">Georgia Sky Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby'>LadyLibby</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Last Ones Standing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Daryl pov, F/M, Pining, Reader Insert, Romance, Seasons 2-6, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:42:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,975</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[PREQUEL TO 'A GOOD INFLUENCE']</p>
<p>For as long as he could remember, life for Daryl Dixon meant following Merle around (and more often than not, straight into trouble). The same time Merle walks out of his life, Daryl and his group stumble onto the Greene family farm, and he stumbles into you. Somehow, you ended up in the back of his mind, and he can’t seem to get rid of you. Not that he’d want to, anyway.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daryl Dixon/Reader, Daryl Dixon/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Last Ones Standing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Georgia Sky Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey hey everyone! I know it’s been a while, but I am in the midst of writing the sequel to A Good Influence, and I figured I’d put this up to tide you all over until that’s ready to go ;) I also can’t resist a good Daryl POV. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>The Farm</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl had blood on his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some of it was his, seeping out of the split skin of his knuckles. A lot was from the kid, Randall. Blood from the lip that split after the first punch, from the nose that broke after the seventh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl didn’t regret it. Randall told him what they needed to know–the kid was bad news. Ran with a crowd that made the walkers look saintly in comparison. At least they’d just kill you. Randall’s people were worse. Much worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“One night, we– we found this little campsite. A man and his two daughters. Teenagers, you know? Real young. Real cute.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl tightened his jaw, letting the barn door slam shut behind him as Randall’s confession rang in his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Their daddy had to watch while these guys– they– and they didn’t even kill the guy afterwards. They just– they just made him watch as his daughters– They just, they just left him there.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His palms itched with the desire to storm right back in there and wallop the bastard one more time. Daryl clenched his fists despite the stinging pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl stopped short, head turning sharply to face the unfamiliar voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was her. One of the girls from the house. Daryl remembered her from the first day, when they’d rode down from the highway. She’d been standing on the porch, wearing a sundress and watching them with careful eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He’d seen her around, carrying buckets of milk from the barn, talking with the blonde one. Sisters, probably. Another of the doctor’s daughters. He seemed to have a lot of those. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More reason to get Randall the hell out of there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your hand is bleeding.” She said, pointing to his crimson-stained skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘S fine.” Daryl said, the response automatic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure? I can help patch you up if you want.” She offered, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “It’s hard to bandage your own hand.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was right. But that didn’t change his answer. He’d had to bandage a lot worse before. Didn’t need help from some farm girl. Didn’t need her pity, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl opened his mouth to say so, when he finally looked at her face. She looked him straight in the eye, fixing him with a look he wasn’t used to. There wasn’t an ounce of disgust, fear, or pity in her expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, she looked at him like he was...normal. Not some dirty redneck or abused child or dangerous survivor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daryl?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt a flash of guilt in his chest. She knew his name. If he’d been told hers, he’d forgotten it just as quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’ need any help.” Daryl shook his head, wiping his palms over his jeans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked like she wanted to press the issue, determination flashing behind her eyes. As she opened her mouth to say something else, a voice echoed across the field. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y/N!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hershel stood just past the front porch, hand shading his eyes from the sun’s glare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Y/N.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was her name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer dad wants ya.” Daryl nudged his head in the direction of the house, half wishing for her to go, half wishing for her to stay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not my dad.” Y/N commented offhandedly, looking towards the house for a moment before turning back to him. “Just...take care of that soon. Don’t want it to get infected.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was off before he could respond, not that he knew what to say anyway. He watched her go, her discerning gaze burned into the back of his mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl shook his head, stalking off towards the makeshift camp to talk to Rick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Randall </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> couldn’t stay. Daryl would make sure of that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The Road</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl perched on the edge of an old dresser, one foot up on the cold wooden surface as he bent his knee towards his chest, the other dangling over the edge. He held an arrow in one hand and his knife in the other, methodically sharpening the tip of the arrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The house was already trashed when they got there, furniture tipped over and garbage strewn across the floor. The best they could scavenge were a couple cans and some paper to start that night’s fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least it was a roof over their heads. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, what was left of one. If Daryl looked up, he’d be able to see the fading light of evening between holes in the decaying wood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wouldn’t be able to stay here. It was too exposed. Already too far-gone to be fixed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bandages.” Hershel’s gentle baritone carried across the small space. “Out here, we’ll have to work with what we have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat with Y/N in the middle of the dilapidated living room, teaching her. They’d been doing that a lot lately– lessons in medicine.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, as long as it's clean and absorbent, it's a bandage. Even these.” Hershel held up a pad. “Of course, we don’t want to use these unless we have to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re the best for covering the smell of the blood.” Y/N nodded, “To keep the walkers away.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly.” Hershel agreed. “Now, if the wound is too deep or someone gets bit on an arm or leg, you’ll want to make a tourniquet to stem the flow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl listened to the rest of the lesson, glancing up from his arrow every so often as Y/N practiced tying an old rag around Hershel’s leg. Hershel talked her through it the first time, and then let her try it on her own, only stopping at the end to correct before she tried again. And again and again and again and again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was probably the teacher’s pet in school, Daryl thought. One of the ones who sat at the front of the class, writing so fast in her notebook that her fingers hurt and she had to stop and shake her hand in the air. She worked hard and tried until she got it right. And then tried some more for good measure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl had sat at the back of class. Not because he didn’t care. At least not at first. He did it to hide the bruises and the holes in his hand-me-down clothes. Too late, he realized that the back of the class was for the troublemakers. The outsiders. The kids who fought on the playground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the sun dipped past the horizon, casting the ramshackle house in deep blue light, Beth interrupted Y/N’s latest attempt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can do it in your sleep at this point, so let’s go to bed.” She said with mock-exasperation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want to get it right.” Y/N said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did. We can stop here for today.” Hershel relented, taking the cloth from her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure you’ll be back at it bright and early in the morning.” Beth quipped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now Bethy,” Hershel intoned, “We may not have a moment like we did on that highway ever again. I won’t always be with you. I see that now, and I need to know you’re prepared.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hershel was right. Daryl knew it. Beth was a fool if she thought otherwise. The world had a way of breaking people up, leaving everyone out on their own. Even before the dead started walking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl knew it, and he knew the only way to survive was to be prepared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will be.” Y/N promised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl peered through the gathering dark, just making out her silhouette, straight-backed and resolute. A small seed of worry planted itself in his stomach. She was learning medical stuff, sure, but she couldn’t fight. She sat at the front of the class. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daddy,” Beth whined. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. It sounds like you’re givin’ up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise I’m not giving up on you, my Beth. I want you to be prepared, but I pray every day that you’ll never have to be. Now try and get some rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl didn’t have to see them to know Beth and Y/N were lying next to one another, cuddled close. They always slept like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Merle was there, he’d probably leer and say “Mind if I join you ladies?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Daryl knew it wasn’t like that between the two of them. They slept beside each other for warmth, but also comfort. Wrapped in sisterly affection (and untroubled by the weight of experience), they both slept soundly every night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl huffed out a breath, tilting his head up. He stared out at the stars beyond the roof and tried not to wonder what it would be like to sleep next to her like Beth did, holding her close where he knew he could keep her safe. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The Prison</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worry wound tight around Daryl’s chest, cords of fear squeezing and constricting around his heart. Daryl hoped that </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing </span>
  </em>
  <span>something would help–digging graves for Karen and David, leading the run to the high school for medicine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It did help, they got what they needed and they got back, but the worry never subsided. When he left, it only got worse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because all he could do was wonder. Until they got back, he wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wouldn’t know if Glenn made it through the night. He wouldn’t know if Judith had gotten sick. He wouldn’t know if Y/N was still alone on the death row, trying to heal the others. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What if she got sick too? What if the others died and she had to take care of the bodies before they turned? What if they turned and she couldn’t fight them off? What if she had died? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What if what if what if what if</span>
  </em>
  <span> echoed and pounded against his skull, the worry getting tighter and tighter in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when they were finally back, he still didn’t know. The walkers had broken through the fence overnight, their bodies strewn across the yard in a gruesome trail to where Rick and Carl had stopped them. Daryl sent Bob in with the medicine, staying out with Tyreese and Michonne to clear the bodies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he drove the truck back in after a dump run, Daryl finally caught sight of Hershel. The older doctor looked exhausted–but triumphant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s Glenn?” Tyreese asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He made it through the night. He’s breathing on his own now. Maggie and Bob are with him. He seems stable enough for me to get some air.” Hershel said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little bit of that worry unwound from Daryl’s chest. “He’s a tough son of a bitch.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hershel smiled. “He is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a tough son of a bitch.” Daryl said, feeling the words he wanted to say, the question he wanted to ask pushing at the back of his throat, begging to be let go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am.” Hershel agreed, starting to walk past Daryl towards the yard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about Y/N?” Daryl blurted, making Hershel stop and turn back. “S’she–s’she alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hershel squinted, as if studying Daryl for the first time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s fine. She did good in there, saved a lot of people I couldn’t have on my own. She’s  ready.” Hershel smiled again, like he knew something Daryl didn’t. “She’s probably still there if you want to see her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl’s ears burned, suffocating worry replaced by the distinct feeling of being caught. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’–I jus’ meant–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Son,” Hershel cut him off, “I don’t care. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a walk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl let his mouth snap shut, nodding stiffly. He waited and watched as Hershel joined Michonne for another dump run before turning and heading for the cell blocks.      </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw her, walking with Beth towards C block. Y/N looked even more tired than Hershel had, dark circles under her eyes and her shirt splattered with blood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she seemed okay, talking in soft tones to the baby in her friend’s arms. “Nap time for me, baby girl. Is it nap time for you too?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl walked towards them, pretending to head for one of the water barrels on the old basketball court. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he passed, she looked at him. She smiled, nodding at him in a gesture of thanks. His chest tightened again, but this time with a feeling that was definitely not worry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The Porch</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya wanna know what I was ‘fore all this?” Daryl looked at Beth across the rickety old porch steps where they sat. “Was just driftin’ around with Merle. Doin’ whatever he said we’d be doin’ that day.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shouldn’t have been saying it. He’d never told </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> about his life before. No one. Not Rick, not Carol. Certainly not Beth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But here he was, feeling that deep gnawing hole of loss in his chest– for Hershel and the prison and the life he’d been stupid enough to get used to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he was drunk. Well, he had been drunk. Drunk enough to become that version of himself that most resembled Merle. The version of himself he hated. Now he was more sober, his vision clearer and his feelings more settled in his chest– guilt, regret, vulnerability. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was nobody. Nothin’. Jus’ some redneck asshole with a bigger asshole for a brother.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked down at his hands, playing absentmindedly with his knife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You miss him, don’t you?” Beth asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl’s heart twisted with that bittersweet feeling thoughts of his brother always brought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss Maggie.” Beth went on, “I miss her bossing me around. I miss my big brother Shawn. He was so annoying and overprotective.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed sadly, twisting her fingers together. “I miss Y/N.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl stilled, willing his body not to betray the flood of emotion running through his body. Her face flashed in his mind, smiling, and then it disappeared, leaving that aching loss in its place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s not my best friend, you know. Hasn’t been for a long time. She’s my sister. I keep...I keep wanting to turn to her and say something. Make a joke or point to something that reminds me of when we were in school. I just miss her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl kept his gaze on his knife, sticking the tip of the blade into the wooden floor of the porch and twisting it around and around and around. He felt like an imposter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because he missed her too. He missed hearing her laugh with Beth, seeing her holding Judith. Catching one of her smiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he had no right to miss her. He barely knew how to look at her, let alone talk to her. Beth knew everything about her, had been by her side for years, stayed with her through </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet he missed her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And my dad.” Beth’s voice was quiet, shaking as Daryl finally looked up at her again. “I thought– I’d hoped he’d just live the rest of his life in peace, you know? I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby, and he’d get to be a grandpa. And we’d have birthdays and holidays and summer picnics. And he’d get really old. And it’d happen, but it’d be quiet. It’d be okay. He’d be surrounded by people he loved.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beth looked up at the stars, her eyes shining. She let out another of those soft, sad laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s how unbelievably stupid I am.” She said, taking another sip of moonshine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl stopped twisting his knife, glancing up at her. “That’s how it was s’posed to be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I could just...change.” Beth sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya did.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not enough.” Beth said, “Not like Y/N. She’s...grown up now. When it started, I felt like I was older. I dated and went to parties and she spent all her time studying. Now I feel like a kid when I’m with her. She doesn’t need anybody to take care of her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl thought about her, alone out there. He could see her, walking through the woods by herself, overwhelmed by a herd or taken by a group of desperate survivors...Daryl grimaced, driving the knife harder into the porch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t changed like that. Not like her.” Beth said. “Not like you. It’s like you were made for how things are now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl shook his head. “‘M jus’ used to’t, things bein’ ugly. Growing up in a place like this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you got away from it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did.” Beth insisted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe ya gotta keep on reminding me sometimes.” Daryl rasped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Beth said, “You can’t depend on anybody for anything, right? I’ll be gone someday.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will.” Beth said it with a calm certainty that sent a chill through his bones. “You and Y/N...you’re gonna be the last ones standing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl couldn’t look at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are.” Beth said, smiling slightly. “You’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon. But Y/N will miss me more. So you gotta take care of her, okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl couldn’t talk for a moment, his throat tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y’ain’t a happy drunk at all.” He finally managed, fidgeting with his knife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m happy.” Beth said. “I’m just not blind. You have to stay who you are. Not who you were.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl met her gaze then, holding it for a moment in silent promise. He looked out into the dark forest, and his head filled with thoughts of loss and survival and </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Beth’s words echoed in his mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re gonna be the last ones standing.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The Train Car</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stand at the door, Ringleader, Archer, Samurai. In that order.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the man from the warehouse, shouted from above. Daryl stood behind Rick, staring at the red train car ahead of them. He should have known better than to let them come here. It was too good to be true, this so-called sanctuary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should have known it would fall apart again. It always did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My son.” Rick shouted, his voice heavy with anger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go, kid.” The stranger said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl began to walk towards them. Daryl clenched and unclenched his fists, missing the weight of his crossbow in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ringleader, open the door and go in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go in with him.” Rick bargained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t make us kill him now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rick looked towards the car and then back at his son. Jaw clenched, he climbed the steps and hauled the door open. Daryl glanced around once more, eyes searching for any break in the fence, any way out, before steeling himself and following Rick into the dark interior of the train car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl turned into the darkness, pacing down to the right until he reached the furthest wall. Skin itching with unease, he turned back again. He was stuck, restless and powerless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door rumbled shut behind Carl, cutting off any light source but the thin shafts of blue light shining through small gaps in the metal. Light that illuminated a figure moving closer from the other side of the train car– a familiar figure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re here.” Rick breathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl stilled, his chest tightening at the sight of Glenn standing before him. Maggie stepped forward beside him. And Sasha and Bob and a handful of strangers– two women and two men. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re our friends.” Maggie explained. “They helped save us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And patched the rest of us up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl’s heart leapt into his throat at the sound of her voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As much as she hadn’t already patched herself up.” One of the newcomers, a woman in military khaki, leaned down to help her up from where she’d been sitting against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl’s eyes widened and his heart rate picked up. Before he had time to stop himself, Daryl was moving forward. He took in the sight of her like a man starved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was thinner, grimier, with a makeshift bandage wrapped around her shoulder. She looked like she’d been through hell and back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she was alive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl lifted his hand, barely brushing her shoulder before regaining his senses and pulling back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Daryl nodded, looking at the stranger who had helped her, helped keep her alive. “Now they’re friends of ours.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For however long that’ll be.” One of the other strangers, the man with red hair, said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Rick shook his head. “They’re gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Find out what?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re fucking with the wrong people.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The Herd</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daryl.” Rick’s voice came through the walkie, static and small over the deep rumble of Daryl’s motorcycle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Virginia backroads sped past in a blur as Daryl answered. “I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Won’t be long now. They’re almost here.” Rick said. “I’ll get them going your way again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How ‘bout that, Daryl?” Sasha’s voice cut in, the bitterness palpable. “He’s gonna be coming our way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guilt lanced through his chest at the thought of her and Abraham alone in front of the herd. But he didn’t turn around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s gunfire coming from back home.” Rick said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worry, which had wound its way around his chest the minute things had started going sideways, tightened its hold around Daryl’s heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl needed to get back to Alexandria. He needed to get back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to see her and hear her and touch her and make sure she was okay. He needed to show her she mattered to him. That he– </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to get back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last time he’d seen her, she had tears in her eyes. She was angry at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl had told her she didn’t know anything about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d only said it because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She knew him better than anyone else and it scared the shit out of him. She was right and he’d pushed her away for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t deserve her...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We gotta sit with it and hope they can handle it.” Rick said. “I think they can. They have to. We keep going forward for them. Can’t turn back ‘cause we’re afraid.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We ain’t afraid.” Came Abraham’s confident reply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is for them.” Rick said. “Going back now before it’s done, that’d be for us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl thought about her. He thought about her looking him straight in the eye in that field on Hershel’s farm, like she already knew who he was. He thought about her smiling at him from the table in the cell block, Judith babbling in her arms. He thought about her laugh, slightly drunk and lilting as she teased him across Aaron’s dining table. He thought about how beautiful she was, whether she was covered in dirt or wearing a clean blouse with her hair wet from the shower. He thought about how she felt in his arms as they slept, warm and soft and </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He thought about how she made him hope for the future. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to get back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The herd has to almost be here.” Rick said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gunshots came through over the radio before the connection went static. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick?” Daryl spoke into his walkie. “Rick?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl hit the brakes, the bike squealing to a stop on the side of the road. “Rick? Rick!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl sighed, indecision swirling in his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered her listening intently to every instruction Hershel gave her. He remembered standing across from her under the hot summer sun in the prison yard, throwing punch after punch after punch until he knew she’d have a chance out there. He remembered how much older she’d looked, world-weary and independent, sitting in Gabriel’s church after being on her own for so long. He remembered Beth’s words on that porch under the stars: “she doesn’t need anybody to take care of her.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl clenched his jaw, revving the engine and taking off again– back the way he came. The Virginia roads flew past again, until he caught up with the herd. Daryl pulled up alongside the old red car, nodding solemnly to his friends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She would be okay. And he would make it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were going to be the last ones standing. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drop a comment to let me know what you thought!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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